


Tents

by Theoroark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21860263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: As Ana walks away, Angela wonders if she knew Fareeha was on a business trip.-A missing scene fic, attempting to bring sense into why Fareeha wasn't present at the Talon attack on the Temple of Anubis.
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	Tents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sealfarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealfarts/gifts).



> For Mariel [@angelasrocket](https://twitter.com/angelasrocket) for the holidays, inspired by [two of](https://twitter.com/angelasrocket/status/1194049353536565248?s=20) [her pieces.](https://twitter.com/angelasrocket/status/1199260318515335170?s=20) Follow her and appreciate her!

As Ana walks away, Angela wonders if she knew Fareeha was on a business trip.

Angela certainly hopes so. Ana has changed a lot– or maybe it’s just that Angela’s changed, and looks at Ana different now. Angela had always been under the impression that Ana was taller than her but maybe it was just that at Overwatch, Ana had stood with ramrod posture whereas in her kitchen, she had hunched with the tense energy of a woman on the run. Angela had always trusted Ana’s judgment, but Ana must have applied her biotic rifle schematics during their time working together. Ana’s probably changed. Getting shot in the eye and faking your death tends to do that to a person. But Angela has a feeling that she’s somehow changed more, and that makes her sad enough that she can’t even really be smug about it.

But no matter how much Ana has changed, or hasn’t, Angela doesn’t think she’d ever forget Fareeha like that. Angela remembers how Ana would fidget with her phone throughout meetings, and whisper “How are you, Fareeha?” into it the second she got out. Even when Fareeha enlisted and the phone calls stopped coming, Angela remembers seeing army class documents on Ana’s desk. Looking at those must have hurt. But Ana looked. Ana wrote Fareeha that letter, even when she must have known, deep down, that she didn’t deserve a response. Ana would have flown to Fareeha’s side, if Fareeha had been in the battle.

But Fareeha was not. And Ana hasn’t changed that much. So she still runs, rather than wait for her daughter to come around.

-

Fareeha gets back to their apartment that night. Her button-down is wrinkled and her hair is a little greasy. She has bags under her eyes to match the efficiently packed duffel slung over her shoulder. But it’s Fareeha, and whenever it’s Fareeha, Angela can’t help but smile and just be a little bit better. 

Fareeha only has time to get out a “Hey, Ang,” before Angela’s wrapping her arms around her and burrowing into her. Even though she always knew Fareeha was never in danger, it’s somehow still a massive relief to hold her, feel her heartbeat. Fareeha laughs a little and kisses her forehead.

“I missed you too,” Fareeha says. Angela hums against her collarbone and wishes they could fall asleep like this, the door still wide open, and wake up and skip over everything they have to do.

But they can’t. Fareeha works for Helix. She has to know already. Angela pulls back and Fareeha’s pulling a sad smile. The kind Angela got as a kid, whenever people found out she was an orphan. Like Fareeha’s the one who needs to be doing the comforting here, not be comforted.

“Guess mum has a new look,” she says.

Angela grabs at the straps of Fareeha’s duffel, but Fareeha shrugs it off and sets it on the floor, rather than let Angela take it. She sits down at the kitchen table and Angela sits across from her. Ana’s used tea mug sits between them.

“I tried to convince her to stay,” Angela says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. No one could convince my mom to do something she doesn’t want to.”

_ Have  _ you  _ tried _ , quickly dies in Angela’s throat. Instead she says, “Jack was with her. He and Gabriel are alive too.”

Fareeha blinks and leans back but apparently, she’s become inured to ghosts as well. Her shock becomes annoyance quick enough. “Of course. I didn’t think Jack’s fashion sense could get worse, but here we are.” Angela laughs a little. “So he’s the tacky American. Makes sense. From what I heard, there were just two though? Where was Gabriel?”

Words die in her throat again but these, Angela needs to get out. It’s all so delicate, though. She and Fareeha had fought about this when they first started dating. Angela remembers distinctly how Fareeha’s anger had only flared when Angela had told Fareeha that she didn’t know things she knew. “I fucking knew him,” Fareeha had spat. “He was my family. Don’t tell me I didn’t know him.”

She doesn’t think Fareeha’s stupid or naive for believing in Gabe’s innocence. It’s just that Angela had only argued with her because she knew how much hope could hurt. And it kills her that despite all her warnings, she’s the one who’s going to have to hurt Fareeha like that now.

Her hesitation must communicate some of it. Because Fareeha’s weary smile falters the longer the silence stretches, until she just looks sad and tired.

“Did you see him?” Fareeha asks.

“Yes.”

“Was he…” She trails off. Angela doesn’t know how she intended to finish that question, and she doubts she would have any good answers. She gladly lets Fareeha pivot away. “Did you get to talk to him at all?”

“No.”

“Did mum or Jack get to him?”

“No. They’re chasing after him, though.”

“Of course she is,” Fareeha says softly. “She always loved them.”

Angela reaches across the table and takes Fareeha’s hand. “She loves you too.”

“I know,” Fareeha says. Her eyes are a little glazed and distant.

“She apologized.” She had, maybe for faults that hurt more than just Fareeha, but she had. It doesn’t matter though. Fareeha just nods.

“She said she didn’t want to do it,” Angela says.

“But she did,” Fareeha says. She laughs and it’s an utterly hollow sound. “I always told mum, actions speak louder than words. She never listened.”

-

Fareeha comes with her to work the next morning. She doesn’t wear her uniform, and she tucks her dog tags under her collar. She walks through the tent city in a gray t shirt and jeans and her hands clench in her pockets when she sees people scarred with rocket shrapnel. 

“I make sure my unit doesn’t do this,” Fareeha says in a low voice. “I know they wouldn’t do it. If I found out they did–”

“I’m sure they didn’t, Fareeha.”

“But Helix did.” Fareeha slows, and Angela follows her gaze. Fareeha’s staring at a woman lying on a stretcher. Nanites are clustered at her knee, filling up the gap between the two discrete parts of her leg. The Omnic medic at the woman’s side is holding her hand.

“I’m going to make this right, Angela,” Fareeha says. “I’m going to do everything I can to make this right.”

“I know,” Angela tells her. Then Angela goes off to her work, and she supposes Fareeha goes off to do whatever work she can. In any case she doesn’t see Fareeha until that afternoon, when she pokes her head into Angela’s tent. Sami, the young girl Angela’s been treating, finally tears her frightened eyes away from the needle in Angela’s hand, to gawk at the newcomer.

“Sorry!” Fareeha says. She starts to back out, but Angela waves her in. Fareeha looks to Sami and, when the girl gives her a little wave, finally fully steps into the tent. Fareeha glances between the two of them as she approaches, gauging the situation. 

“What’s your name?” she asks the girl.

“Sami.” 

“My name’s Fareeha,” she tells her. Doesn’t mention her last name. “And I’ve been around this one a lot.” She winks at Angela, who snorts. Sami giggles despite herself. “So I’ve seen her stick needles in a bunch of people. And all of them have been better for it. And it hasn’t hurt them for more than a minute.”

“I know,” Sami says. Fareeha knits her brow. Sami’s expression remains neutral under Fareeha’s scrutiny and that seems to crystalize something for her.

“Like I said,” Fareeha says. “I’ve seen Dr. Ziegler stick a lot of people. And I’ve seen a lot of different reactions. Some people cry.” Sami’s lip tightens. “Some don’t. This one guy in particular, took it very stoically. Didn’t so much as flinch. He stood up, thanked Dr. Ziegler, and promptly passed out.” Sami’s face twists, uncertain how she’s supposed to react, and Fareeha smiles down at her. “He was fine, don’t worry. He’d been hit in the head plenty of times before. But my point is, not showing that you’re afraid doesn’t making any stronger. In fact, if he had let himself be afraid, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so overwhelmed.”

“Are you saying I’m going to pass out?” Sami asks.

“What? No! I–” Fareeha runs a hand down her face. “I just mean, you’re okay. However you react is okay. No one’s going to judge you for it.”

Sami hesitates, then nods. She holds out her arm and Fareeha lets out a sigh of relief. As Angela attaches a cotton swab to the puncture on Sami’s arm, she sees that the girl’s eyes are watering.

“All done,” Angela says.

“You did really good,” Fareeha tells her. Sami gives the two of them the polite smile children humor adults with, and makes her exit. Fareeha buries her head in her hands as soon as she’s out the door.

“Thank you,” Angela says.

“Why are you thanking me? I totally fucked up.”

“No, you didn’t.” Angela walks over and kisses Fareeha’s forehead. She’ll have to swap gloves again. It’s worth it. “You helped a lot. Thank you.”

Fareeha smiles up at her weakly. “I guess there’s a reason you’re the doctor and I’m the soldier, right?”

Angela wants to argue with her, with so much of that proposition. But the day is full of promise and everything around them is so tenuous, Angela really doesn’t want to lose a battle right now. She just says, “Come on. Let’s go get some lunch.” 

-

Angela doesn’t know how it comes out. They start out the evening sitting on the couch in pajamas. Fareeha’s reading a thick sci-fi novel and Angela’s aimlessly tapping at her tablet. And somehow over the course of flipping through that, she lands on the Recall notice she got weeks ago.

Fareeha leans over her shoulder as it plays on mute. They’ve both seen it before, but they watch Winston silently gesticulate like the ending will change. When the screen goes black, like it always does, Angela looks up at Fareeha.

“You have to go,” Fareeha says.

“You have to come with me.”

“I can’t leave here without doing something about Helix first.” Fareeha taps the tablet and scans the mission briefing that accompanied the video. “I definitely won’t be able to make this Paris job they’re talking about. But I’ll come as soon as I can.”

Angela squirms into the couch cushion. “Maybe I should wait for you.”

“Why?” Fareeha studies her, and Angela says nothing. “You jumped right in when mum and Jack were fighting. What’s holding you back now?”

Angela thinks for a moment. She traces a hand up and down Fareeha’s thigh, along the soft fabric of her sweatpants. “I like this,” Angela finally says. “I like just sitting here on a sofa being with you. I know that’s not heroic or noble or interesting but it’s my favorite thing in the world. And I don’t want to give that up, and we’re about to.”

“I’m sure Winston can buy a sofa.”

Angela snorts. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Fareeha strokes her shoulder, and Angela’s skin prickles with goosebumps in the wake of her fingers. “I like this, too.”

“I know I’m being selfish.”

“That’s okay. You’re supposed to be selfish some of the time.”

“Not us,” Angela reminds her. “We’re about to be heroes, remember?”

“Heroes like my mom.”

“Exactly.” They give each other nervous, guilty smiles. Fareeha breaks first, runs her hand through Angela’s hair and kisses her.

“We have tonight,” Fareeha says. “We know that. And we’re going to have more nights. I promise, Angela.”

Angela looks around their apartment– a little messy, but cozy and theirs. She remembers her last week staying at the Lindholms’ house, before she went off to college. She had fretted about making every moment meaningful and fun and purposeful, until Torbjorn had gruffly informed her that her efforts at a good time were making everyone miserable. Herself included. The anxiety of making one’s last days happy was a Catch 22. She can’t cram for memories.

But Fareeha has already given her plenty. And she trusts Fareeha to give her more. And so Angela can set her tablet aside, lean against Fareeha, and closes her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m [@tacticalgrandma](https://twitter.com/tacticalgrandma) on twitter if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos would mean the world to me 💜


End file.
